


let's conspire to ignite

by jackiednp



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Depression, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14732072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiednp/pseuds/jackiednp
Summary: The road to recovery after the loss of a loved one isn’t easy, and Phil is trying to handle it by bringing flowers to his brother’s grave. After an unfortunate event with a stranger and his garden, something changes in Phil’s life. The stranger seems to be everywhere; on the way to the graveyard, at cafes and at the flower shop, but most importantly, he's in Phil’s mind.Or, Phil is a flower thief that Dan somehow can’t quite get rid of.(Based loosely onthisau)





	1. Chapter 1

Phil still couldn’t quite believe it.

Even though he’d been through it all – first, the awful news, then the treatment. The slowly getting better but suddenly getting worse, the hospitalization. All the way up to ‘ _I’m sorry but he won’t make it much longer_ ’ and, even though everyone told him not to, the shutting off the respirator.

He’d been there until the very end, holding his brother’s hand until he simply wasn’t there anymore, and he still couldn’t quite believe it.

Sometimes, like that time he found his old copy of ‘Bubble Bobble’ – or when his mum showed him an old picture from one of their many trips to Florida, he immediately thought _I’ll have to show this to Martyn later_ , until the realisation hit him and he had to remind himself that _no_ , _I can’t do that because my brother is dead_. He still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that going back to his childhood home now only reminded him of the brother that he used to have, but no longer did, and he still couldn’t understand how his parents managed to stay in that house.  

To him, it only felt like something was missing; and that was because something was.

The funeral took place on the 29th of January, the day before Phil’s birthday, and it’d been short and sweet and heartbreaking.  

Martyn always told him that black clothes didn’t suit him, so Phil opted for a bright blue shirt underneath his suit. He ignored the stern gaze some of his relatives shot his way because they hadn’t just lost a brother and frankly, no one besides Martyn would understand it anyways.

He’d stayed at the casket for longer than appropriate. As he stood with his hand resting on the wooden surface, his cheeks damp and his nose running, he told himself that he couldn’t sit back down until he felt like he’d said goodbye. 

When the priest placed his hand on Phil’s shoulder and led him back to the bench, however, he realised that he’d never be able to say goodbye properly. His brother had died. How can anyone say goodbye to the only person that understood you?

In the succeeding months, Phil had made it a part of his routine to stop by the graveyard once every week just to talk to his brother for a few minutes. To say ‘hey’ and ‘you’d never believe what just happened’ and ‘I’ll see you soon’, but never to say ‘goodbye’. He still couldn’t say it; he still wasn’t ready.

The first few times he visited, back when the gravestone still had yet to be placed and the flowers from the funeral still hadn’t decayed, Phil always made sure to bring flowers. He always tried to bring tulips if he could find any, because tulips had always been Martyn’s favourite.

The thing that made Martyn like tulips, as he’d explained that one time they’d been to Keukenhoff during the tulip season, was that ‘ _you never see tulips in exactly the same colour twice_ ’. Phil had laughed and told him that it wasn’t true, but Martyn had insisted on that even if you see two different tulips that were yellow they couldn’t be the _exact same_ shade of yellow, and that’s what made every single tulip special.

At the time, Phil simply shook his head and smiled at his brother, but now that he was gone and Phil had nothing left of him but old pictures and a pile of brown dirt; he found that tulips maybe weren’t so terrible after all.

Unfortunately, to Phil's disappointment, tulips turned out to be surprisingly hard to find.

Regular stores didn’t sell them so if he wanted to get ahold of a bouquet he had to buy them at a flower shop, and flower shops were expensive. Too expensive. At first he found he didn’t care about the money because making sure that he did everything to show his dead brother that he cared outweighed everything else; however, rent and taxes and real life didn’t exactly care that Phil just lost his brother and he already had a hard time getting by as it was.

Instead, he opted for whatever flowers he could find at a reasonable price, even if it made him feel slightly guilty. 

Sometime in early March, when the snow had completely melted away and everyone around him began to ramble on about spring, Phil almost never brought flowers with him anymore. He still visited the grave a few times a week. He took a seat on the damp ground, crossing his legs and talking mindlessly for some time, until he felt too cold or couldn’t think of anything else to say, and then he’d leave.  
  
He always took the same road there, always walked across the park and through the posh neighbourhood until he reached the daunting gates to the graveyard and then he’d take the same road back. The same routine. Always the same routine.

 

Martyn’s grave looked sad, compared to the other’s.

The sun felt nice on his skin and even if he didn’t exactly feel excited about the fact that spring was here, he definitely appreciated that it wasn’t dark or rainy or cold anymore. It made him feel bad, though, because as spring arrived it meant that every other grave next to Martyn’s were decorated with all all sorts of new flowers in bloom, but Martyn’s had been lacking any sort of decor for weeks.  

In all honesty he mostly just forgot to bring any this time, but he still thought that it looked a bit pitiful. The lack of decoration almost gave off the vibe that the grave was abandoned, even if it clearly wasn’t, and he promised himself that he would remember to bring something for his brother next week.

It’d been almost four months since the funeral and Phil was sat with his legs sprawled out in the grass, his hands tugging at the green strands next to him as he chatted on about a movie he’d seen the previous day. It’d been a horror movie, a found footage one that he knew Martyn would’ve loved, and he made sure to add that even if the acting wasn’t great the jumpscares had been really terrifying and that he’d probably give it a 6 out of 10.

“The guy playing the lead had this really weird hairstyle,” Phil said as he sat up a bit straighter. “Like it was _really_ curly but too long for his face so the strands always fell over his eyes and it just looked so impractical when they were running away from this demon or whatever..” he trailed off. “You really would’ve liked it.”

He fell silent and let his glance roam over the stone in front of him. He watched the slightly darker carvings on the fading gray surface that read “in loving memory of Martyn Lester” but he couldn’t find it in him to read any more than that. After all, he knew exactly what it said. The date of his birth and the date of his death. October 30th and January 21st. He shook his head as if to shake off the sudden pain he felt in his chest.

“Well, that’s that I guess.” he slowly propped himself up on his knees and got up from the ground, frowning lightly. “There’s not much going on in my boring life since you left, honestly, so I guess I’ll just come back next week.”

He stood for a few moments in silence, before turning around to leave. “Next time I’ll bring you flowers, I promise.”

 

The week passed by slowly. Phil spent most of the time in his flat, mostly just leaving for grocery shopping, and even though he promised PJ that they would grab a coffee sometime later that week; both of them knew it wasn’t going to happen. Phil appreciated the offer even if he wouldn’t take PJ up on it and PJ knew Phil enough to know that. He meant well. He really, really did.

He watched another horror movie that he could tell Martyn all about. That had been their thing: horror movies. It didn’t really matter if they were good or bad, terrifying or ridiculous, English or Japanese – it was their thing, and Phil wasn’t ready to let go of that.

He still felt slightly uncomfortable always watching them by himself, especially the really scary ones like The Forest or Insidious or Alien, but he always watched them. For Martyn. Sometimes he just went back to watch The Shining over and over again, because that had been _their_ _movie_ and Phil had probably seen it more times than he could count and it always, _always_ , made him feel like home.

This one had been a pretty strange one about a group of friends that went hiking together. Eventually weird things started happening and it all ended in a crazy ritual where pagans sacrificed people to some weird northern monster. Phil would tell Martyn that it had a ‘Blair Witch Project’-vibe to it - even if it hadn’t been a found footage film - and since one of the guys was called Phil it hadn’t been _that_ terrible, and that he’d probably give it a 6 out of 10. If Martyn would’ve been there with him, he’d grin and say, “but Phil, you give every movie a 6 out of 10” and they would laugh, because Phil always did.

He thought about that as he walked down the street. He smiled as the flashing memory of  Martyn, a bowl of popcorn in his lap and his legs spread out over Phil’s small sofa, jumped so hard that the bowl went flying and Phil had been showered in popcorn. They had laughed so much that they forgot to watch the rest of the movie and even now, so many years later, Phil would still find popcorn in between the cushions.

Even though he loved popcorn, he found that he had a hard time eating it nowadays.

It wasn’t until then, his hands curled into fists and buried deep in the pockets of his maroon bomber jacket, that he realised it. He forgot the flowers. A sinking feeling spread throughout his chest and into his stomach and even though it didn’t really matter to anyone but Phil, he felt like he’d let Martyn down. He couldn’t come empty handed, not _one more time_ , not after he’d promised.

He considered turning back and walk all the way to the nearest flower shop, 30 minutes there and 30 minutes back, or maybe he’d just walk past the graveyard and take the 40 minutes extra walk to get to the supermarket. Both of those options where time consuming and, to be honest, felt like too much work. He came to a stop, arguing with himself if it was worth getting the damn flowers or if he should just leave it.

But he couldn’t, right? He couldn’t come empty handed, not again.  
  
He had promised.

Phil took a few steps forward and scanned the area he was in, mostly to buy himself some time to decide. He was conflicted, completely unsure about what to do, and as he stared down the road in front of him, lined with posh houses and gardens overflowing with bushes and trees and flowers, he- _wait_. He stopped walking again with his glance fixed upon a colourful patch in one of the gardens to his left. Flowers.

 _Tulips,_ even.

He backed up a few steps as he stared at the tulips. There were quite a few of them, planted right on the other side of the hedge that seperated the garden from the pavement Phil was walking on, and they had a beautiful range of colours going from red, to orange, to yellow. They were planted as if they faded into each other, a smooth and steady gradient of colours; and there were so many of them that it didn’t look choppy or out of place, at all. Phil stood there mesmerized for a few seconds, until he thought that _there had to be enough that the owner wouldn’t notice if a few went missing_ and he cursed under his breath for thinking it. _I could take some. Just a few_.

He spun his head around to see if anyone was watching him, if anyone would be able to see him crouching down and reaching over the hedge, plucking the flowers right from their home. He couldn’t see anyone. _It can’t be a crime,_ Phil thought as the adrenaline in his veins made his breathing go heavy and, _surely, they would understand if I just explained to them_.

Phil did another little spin, making sure that no one was around to witness his delinquency; and with a quiet little _fuck it_ , he leant down and plucked 6 different tulips, all of them from slightly different places so that the theft wouldn’t be too obvious, and he quickly but carefully snuck them under the breast of his jacket. It didn’t take more than a few seconds and when he was done he whipped his head around for the third time, making sure that no one had seen him. To his relief the street was just as empty as a few seconds ago and Phil sighed as he hurriedly fled the scene of the crime.

It wasn’t until he plonked down next to Martyn’s grave that he dared to unzip his jacket and reveal the slightly abused flowers from their hiding place, smiling stupidly.

“Look what I got you!” he exclaimed and carefully placed the tulips, put together into a small bouquet, right next to the dusty stone. His smile widened as he leant back, admiring his work and the sudden change from ‘gloomy abandoned grave’ to ‘slightly less gloomy and _definitely not abandoned_ grave’.

“You’ll never believe how I got them.” Phil said and leaned back onto his palms, folding his legs in front of him. If Martyn had been there with him, he probably would’ve shook his head in mock disapproval and told Phil to put them back, just like any big brother would, but he would’ve said it with a playful smile and a look that gleamed of pride.

 

Phil had read somewhere that when one commits a crime without getting caught, it’s difficult to stop committing said crime until they’re actually caught doing it. Phil wouldn’t exactly call his little flower-theft a _crime_ , nor would he say that he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to, but he might go so far as to say that it’d grown into a bad habit.

He’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but he’d actually plucked the forbidden flowers three times since that first time. He always made sure that no one was there to see him and he always made sure to pluck ones far away from each other, and he couldn’t say that he _liked_ doing it but he also couldn’t say that he hated it. It was naughty, but it gave him a thrill; and he always chuckled when he arrived at Martyn’s grave, still buzzing slightly from the adrenaline.

This week, he’d actually brought proper flowers for a change. A big bouquet of expensive white lilies to be exact, because he wasn’t the only one to visit the grave. Cornelia, Martyn’s girlfriend of five years, had called him earlier that week and asked if she could join him the next time Phil planned to say hi to his brother, and of course Phil had said yes. Phil really liked Cornelia and even if he would’ve preferred some time alone with Martyn, she had always been the only one besides Phil that Martyn truly cared for.

“I really don’t like graveyards,” she mumbled as they got out of her car. “it always reminds me of death and loneliness. Sadness.”

“I find them really calming,” Phil said, “everyone here is always so quiet and calm, and it’s nice. It’s like it’s a world away from all the busy.”

“I suppose.” Cornelia hummed.

They walked in silence until they reached the all too familiar gravestone; the one at the far end in a row of graves that all looked too much alike. The few tulips he’d stolen from the garden last time was still there, withered and sad, and he leant forward to replace them with the fancy lilies. He prefered the tulips by a mile, but he supposed the lilies looked nice. Posh.

“Were the tulips yours?” Cornelia wondered as she spread out her jacket on the grass and took a seat on it, watching as Phil placed the dead tulips to the side.

“Yeah.” Phil took her example and sat down on the grass as well, crossing his legs.

“I liked those better, actually. The lilies don’t feel like him.”

Phil thought about it for a few moments, and then replied, “I know”.

They both grew silent. Phil studied the too familiar carvings as he thought about how different it was being there with someone else. He didn’t prefer it to being alone, but he still liked it. It made him feel closer to Martyn, and in turn, closer to Cornelia.

“What do you do when you come here?” Cornelia asked then, breaking the silence between them. “Your mum says you’re here at least once a week, isn’t that a lot?”

“I usually just talk to him as if he’s here,” Phil hummed in response, “I just sit here and I talk about stuff that happened in the week or about something that’s been on my mind, you know, stuff I would say to him if he was sat next to me.”

“I do that too, but like, at home. I talk to him all the time because I sort of feel like he’s still there with me, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“But here…” she sighed and turned her head to look at Phil. “It just feels too real here, that’s why I never come. Usually I can just pretend that he’s away, at the Isle of Man or at yours or whatever, but here- it’s just, just so real. That he’s dead.”

Phil nodded. He felt it too.

“I just think it’s nice, knowing that he’s here. Like, wherever he is in _that_ way, he is still here and this is the closest where I can get to him, y’know.” Phil said.

“He really loved you.”

“I know.”

They didn’t say anything else until Cornelia got up to leave. Phil stayed behind for a few minutes, saying “we miss you” and “I’ll see you next week with the right flowers” before he spun around to follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so excited to finally start posting this fic, i've been working on it for ages and i really hope you like it!!  
> i'll probably update once a week (most likely wednesdays)  
> come and share your thoughts and also say hi on tumblr! @retrohowell
> 
> also special thanks to britt (@moossage) for betaing, listening to my stupid rambles and hyping this fic with me from the very start, and also ty anna (@phanmoosage) for being so supportive. ily both<3


	2. Chapter 2

Halfway to the graveyard, it began to rain – and be it just Phil’s luck to have forgotten his umbrella. When he felt the first few drops he cursed under his breath and hoped that it wouldn’t be worse than that, but when it continued raining he gave in. He shuddered as he stripped off his jacket and awkwardly held it out over his head to at least protect his hair; but the whole thing was clumsy and unpractical and it didn’t exactly do much to shield him from the rain.

He arrived at the tulip-house and came to a stop, awkwardly fiddling with his jacket and trying to come up with a practical way of plucking flowers and trying to not get drenched at the same time. He’d just gotten the hang of it when he heard someone close to him clear his throat and he froze. Phil’s eyes widened and he looked up, startled, with his jacket falling on his head and with his heart in his throat.

“You,” the voice said, and Phil’s eyes landed on a man standing underneath an umbrella, one hand on his hip and looking straight at Phil.

His jacket had a bizarre cut to it, Phil thought it looked like something straight out of an anime, and it was slightly odd paired together with the mop of brown and very curly hair that danced around his forehead. It looked like the opposite to Phil’s manically straight and black fringe, but it didn’t look bad. Just odd. “You’re my tulip thief.”

Phil tried to smile, laugh it off, but the only noise that came out of him was a quiet yelp. He figured that he must’ve looked terrified, because the man smiled a little and Phil gulped.

“I- I’m not- It's not--” he stuttered, unable to figure out what to say in his defense. He quickly scanned the area around him as if planning to run away, but out of all the things he could do, running was by far the worst option. He felt himself begin to panic slightly and laughed nervously as he spoke again. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, so you’re _not_ stealing my tulips then? Because I’ve seen you like, I don’t know, at least _four_ times leaning over the hedge and kidnapping my tulips,” the man’s voice was clearly sarcastic and Phil knew how bad it must look. How bad it _was_.

“Well, yeah, but- it’s, um, it’s for a good cause, I guess...”

He found it in him to look up at the man then, peering through his black fringe with eyes filled with remorse, and the eyes that met his in return were surprisingly friendly. The deep, brown colour made him feel slightly less terrified and he straightened himself up a little bit. Maybe it wasn’t too bad, after all. The guy looked nice enough, maybe he _would_ actually understand.

“Good thing I didn’t call the police on your ass then,” the guy said and all Phil could see were dimples carved into slightly rosy cheeks. It made Phil ease up even more and he chuckled nervously in response.

“I’m- I’m really sorry, I-” Phil fidgeted slightly with his jacket, still standing awkwardly with it held out over his head to block out the rain. It must’ve looked stupid, because Phil was a grown man getting caught stealing _flowers_ like a child, and he was so terrified that he could probably cry. It wasn’t a good look. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Well,” the man said, still smiling, as he took a few steps closer to the hedge they were stood next to. “I hope the girl’s worth it.”

He leaned down and swiftly plucked a few of the deepest, dark red tulips and handed them to Phil, who in turn looked at him, speechless.

“No- I- I mean, no, it’s fine! You don’t- I mean, you really don’t have to, I can just-”

“Really, it’s fine,” the guy chuckled and held them out further, closer to Phil, as if he insisted on Phil to take them. “Please take them, she’s a really lucky girl.”

“It’s- no, it’s not like that. There’s no girl, it’s just, well…” he trailed off.

“Or, guy then, I don’t mind.” Phil felt his cheeks heat up and stared at the other in awe as he spoke. “I find it really sweet, even though you’re _stealing_ _my flowers_ , that you keep doing this like every week. I felt like I had to come out and say hi.” Phil smiled back awkwardly.

“Thanks, I guess, but it’s really not what you think.” He wasn’t really sure what else to say, because somehow it felt extremely wrong to burst the guy’s bubble. As much as Phil wished that some girl, or guy, were receiving these flowers every week – the truth was that Phil just left them to wither away at a graveyard where no one really cared about them. He supposed he felt guilty, but also a bit pathetic.

“No really, I insist. I mean, if I hadn’t interrupted you you would’ve taken them anyway, right? Don’t let me be the one to stop you!” he flashed another grin and Phil noticed those dimples again, the one on the left side of his mouth deeper than the one on the right. It made him seem very soft, and very, very kind.

Phil smiled sheepishly as he reached out to accept the bouquet of flowers. “Thanks.”

“Well,” the man brought his hand to his slightly damp fringe and swept away the curls that fell in front of his eyes. “Next time I see you stealing, you won’t get away as easily.” He spoke in a weird smug voice and even if he probably didn’t mean to sound as aggressive as he did, Phil felt a lump in his throat.

Unable to say anything, Phil nodded. He struggled with his stupid jacket as he held onto the flowers, trying to think of something to say, and he supposed that the best thing would be to just tell the man the truth and be over with all of this, but he also felt like he couldn't do that. The next best thing would be to just never show his face there again.

“I think I should, I should probably get- uh, get going.” he stuttered as he felt his cheeks heat up once again. “And really, thank you for this, but it won’t happen again. Is there anything I can do? Like, pay you?”

The guy shook his head. “No worries, honestly. And it’s fine, you know– the flowers. I really don’t mind, I just wanted to joke around. It’s not everyday you catch a grown man stealing your _tulips_ , out of all the flowers to steal.”

“Well, tulips are his favourite,” Phil couldn’t stop himself and right when he said it, he regretted it. “I’m sorry, I really should be going.”

“That’s one lucky guy.”

Phil smiled, unsure what else to do, and took a few steps forward as if to further prove his point. The man stepped aside to let him go, and just as Phil passed him he smiled.

“Guess I’ll see you around.” the man said.

Phil didn’t answer, but he did manage to mumble “don’t count on it” under his breath as he hurriedly made his way to the graveyard. He felt nauseous, and even if he wanted to – he didn’t turn around.

 

The next time Phil went to see Martyn, he took a detour.

Even if that guy had said that the stealing had been _okay_ , Phil couldn’t drop the weird feeling of humiliation that getting confronted about it brought him. He was a grown man stealing flowers from a stranger’s garden, and it was weird. He knew that.

That week, Phil had told PJ the story over that coffee they always talked about catching up over. He’d left out the part that it’d been the fifth or seventh time of him doing it when he got caught, but PJ had laughed at him anyway and it honestly didn’t exactly make Phil feel much better.

“But was he _hot_?” PJ had joked and Phil shook his head, not as an answer but in pure agony, his cheeks rosy in embarrassment as he hid his face in his hands.

“Just forget I ever said anything.” Phil complained, mostly into his hands, and PJ laughed.

And so the walk that usually took him about 15 minutes ended up taking him nearly 25 and it wasn’t _that_ big of a difference, but it still annoyed him. He also didn’t have any flowers with him when he arrived and of _course,_ it also started raining by the time he pushed the screeching gate open. He was grumpy and sad and wet and didn’t feel like being there at all, but he was and so he thought _might as well_.

The tulips from before, probably the last tulips to ever wither away at that grave, were ashy and looked sad; and as Phil sat down on the cold and wet ground he looked at them with pity and recognition. He sighed sharply as he leaned over to throw them away.

“I’m so stupid,” he said then, mostly to Martyn but also to no one in particular. “It’s not _that_ big of a deal but I just feel really stupid. Like, I refuse to go past that house again because what if he sees me? Even if I’m not stealing anything he’ll always just think of me as ‘that guy who stole his flowers’ and how pathetic is that? And now I’ll have to take the street next to that big road to even get here and I really, really hate that, and just- I’m so stupid.”

He waited for a reply, even though he knew he wouldn’t get one.

“I’m sorry Martyn, but there’s probably not going to be any more tulips for a while. I blew it. I just can’t go back there.”

He fell silent then. Everything around him was wet and grey. The grass, his clothes, his shoes and his hair; and it wasn’t exactly cold out, but he shivered nonetheless. He didn’t feel like talking, not today, and so he just sat there and stared at the grave in silence. The graveyard was empty, save for himself, and he understood why – because if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really want to be there, either.

It was simply too depressing, to be here on a day like this. For the first time ever, Phil knew what Cornelia had meant about it.

He could _feel_ how it reeked of sadness, of death and emptiness.

Even though he felt bad about it, he left just ten minutes later without so much as a word. He couldn’t find it in him to power through any longer. He didn’t even offer any of the usual promises, like “I’ll see you next time” or “don’t go anywhere” – he just left.

 

To Phil’s disapproval, the flowerless routine continued. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to bring flowers, because he did – it was just that when they weren’t as easily accessible as they’d been before, he couldn’t be bothered.

He continued to visit Martyn as usual but the fact that he had to take the road from hell every single time didn’t help.

That, and he felt he didn’t really contribute anything, being at Martyn’s grave. He had nearly lost all desire to even go there and it made him felt guilty, even though he never stopped going completely.

PJ had been over more and more recently and was the only one Phil typically spoke about his bad conscience to, and even if PJ tended to be a jerk about it in response, he also did make him feel better.

“Look, I knew Martyn, and he would’ve hated it if he knew about all the times you’ve passed up a chance to go out and have fun over sitting alone in a graveyard for hours,” he said one time, both of them sprawled out over Phil’s sofa, when Phil brought it up. “He never would’ve wanted you to throw your life away like this.”

“I know, but I feel like I owe it to him.”

PJ crooked his head slightly to look at Phil, whose eyes were glued to the tv.

“Phil, he wouldn’t want it. You know that. I know that. Hell, even the gardener at the fucking cemetery knows that,” he stretched out his foot so that his toes were poking at Phil’s thigh. “What’s his name again, Hank? I bet that Hank is tired of seeing you there all the time.”

Phil forced a chuckle then, maybe not as convincing as he thought, because PJ propped himself up on his elbows and shot him a worried look.

“I can come with you next time, yeah? Maybe it’d make you feel better.”

“No,” Phil sputtered. He’d never been there with anyone besides his parents or Cornelia, and it would just feel weird to bring PJ. “I appreciate it, but I prefer just going there by myself.”

“Sure thing, but it’s your loss. I would make _great_ company.”

Phil hummed sarcastically and PJ threw a pillow at him to shut him up, and then they both giggled about it but left it at that. PJ didn’t pry and that was probably why Phil liked him so much.


	3. Chapter 3

In spite of his best efforts, Phil kept feeling like he was letting himself – and Martyn – down. Every time he didn’t show up at the graveyard, he felt guilty. Every time he _did_ show up but didn’t stay long enough or didn’t bring anything, he felt guilty.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt so obliged to keep it all up. Maybe it was because he felt a responsibility towards Martyn. Maybe it was because he knew that Martyn would've done the same if the roles were reversed, maybe because his parents weren’t able to visit as often as they’d like. Maybe he was afraid that Martyn would think that everyone forgot about him.

But Martyn was dead. For all Phil knew, Martyn didn’t even know about all of this. Maybe Phil was just wearing himself out for nothing and it didn’t even really matter. He didn’t know.

The whole existential aspect of everything was something he tried to avoid best he could. He wasn’t exactly religious, but still clung to some of his childhood beliefs, and anything concerning God always left him feeling so confused. He didn’t really believe in the afterlife, but thinking about how this life could possibly be the one and only chance he’d get at life always made him uneasy, and so he tried to just not think about it. At all, if he could.

He voiced a small portion of these thoughts to Cornelia, who he found was the only other person that really understood his worries about the afterlife, and in an attempt to make him feel better she offered to join him the next few times he went to the cemetery.

They usually just sat together in silence, looking at the grave, or staring up at the sky. Sometimes they’d watch the other people that visited the gravestones nearby, and it made Phil feel slightly better. To have her there, to see the other people missing their lost ones, made him feel a little less lonely in some ways.

Ever since Martyn passed he’d felt alone. He knew it wasn’t Martyn’s fault, he knew he couldn’t blame anyone, but he felt completely and utterly abandoned, and he’d simply accepted that nothing would ever take that feeling away. However, to sit in silence next to the one person Martyn chose to spend his life with, made it a little bit better. Somehow, she filled a tiny part of that hollowness, and it was calming.  
  
Phil knew how Cornelia felt about being there and he appreciated her stepping out of her comfort zone for Phil’s sake, even though he understood that it was mostly for Martyn.

"I thought that we could buy some flowers this time," Cornelia said absentmindedly as Phil stepped into her car. After he closed the door behind him he turned around to look at her, her vibrant red hair was styled and her neatly painted lips were dragged into a soft grin.

She looked poised and well put together, despite the circumstances, and he’s a right mess compared to her. His unwashed hair fell in waves since he hadn’t bothered to straightened it, and the bags under his eyes gave away the fact he’d only slept a few hours that night.

"I wanted to buy some roses because it's our anniversary, and it's been a while since you've left him anything too, right?" she added.

Phil nodded as he turned around in his seat to buckle his seatbelt. "Yeah, that sounds really good."

"I thought we could go to - what's it called... Royal Blooms, I think? It's not too far from here." she proposed, thinking aloud, and Phil nodded again.

Truthfully, he wasn't feeling up to all of this today. If Cornelia hadn't asked him to tag along with her, Phil's not sure he would've bothered going to the graveyard at all. He felt more like staying in with a movie, maybe ringing up PJ to come round with snacks – but his guilty conscience won him out in the end.

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of a small flower shop with a large overhead sign that read ' _Royal Blossom_ ' in screaming red letters. As she closed the car door behind her, Cornelia smiled and pointed at the sign, laughing animatedly, saying "I was right!" and Phil couldn’t help but to let out a genuine laugh as they approached the entrance.

He could tell that Cornelia sensed something was off with him today, but being the compassionate woman she was, she didn’t want to overstep. Phil felt bad since it wasn’t her fault, none of it was, and really – she shouldn’t _have_ to be bothered by it. He knew that these thoughts were mostly his brain tripping over itself, but it still hurt to think about.

She held the door open for Phil, who thanked her, as he stepped into the humid warmth of the shop.

It wasn't a huge place, but it was nice. The far left wall was made up of several huge glass doors and inside them were buckets filled with all kinds of cut flowers. In the middle, and placed all around the rest of the room, were traditional bouquets stacked in racks; ranging from roses to lilies to carnations.

Phil inhaled the strong scent that lingered in the shop as he walked forward to study the vast variety of flowers that sat behind the glass doors, hiding slightly behind a huge bush of something with huge and green leaves. He let his eyes roam over the different sorts of flowers in silence, not really caring too much about were Cornelia had wandered off to, as he instead found himself thinking about how he’d much rather be curled up on his couch right now, asleep.

"Welcome to Royal Blossom, do y'need any help?" a voice suddenly asked behind him, yanking Phil out of his thoughts.

"Oh, no thank you, I'm just-" he turned around and stopped mid sentence because he was standing face to face with _that guy_. The guy from the fucking tulip-house, one of the only people he really didn’t want to see, stood before him. Of course, as his luck would have it, fate would bring him face to face with the one person he had been trying his hardest to avoid. He felt his stomach drop.

"Why hi there," the guy said with a surprised smile, seemingly recognizing Phil as well. "You're here to _buy_ the flowers, I hope?"

His voice was sarcastic and Phil knew that it was intended as a joke, but he couldn’t help it when his eyes widened slightly, suddenly embarrassed. He folded his arms across his chest wearily. He'd just about managed to suppress the awkward memories and he didn't feel like being reminded of his stupidity.

"Very funny," he mumbled as he glanced around the shop hastily. If he hadn’t already wanted to grab Cornelia and rush out of this store, he sure as hell did now. "But yeah, I am."

"D'you know what you're looking for?"

“I’m not really looking – or, well – actually, if you have any tulips that... that’d be great.”

The man grinned at him and parted his lips as to say something, but stopped himself. Instead, he spun around on his heel, moving over to the other end of the shop, looking back at Phil as he spoke. “We have a few bouquets over here, but only white, pink-ish and purple. No yellow or red ones.”

Phil followed him with his head lowered slightly, and he nodded as they came to a stop in front of another glass cabinet. The man slid the door to the side and stretched out his arm to grab three different bouquets of tulips; one white, one deep purple and one that shifted in very light pink.

“That’s fine, any colour is fine.”

“Maybe…” he held out the purple bouquet closer to Phil, and their gazes interlocked. “Purple tulips typically symbolizes royalty or strength, but I think they’re the prettiest.”

Phil raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Not yellow or red, then?” he questioned, thinking back to the tulips that ranged from the palest yellow to the deepest blood red in his garden. Phil couldn’t remember seeing any purple at all, as he thought about it, and it made him curious. “Maybe you’re just trying to keep all of those to yourself, hmm..?”

He wasn’t quite sure where the sudden burst of courage came from, or why he really cared, but he did.

“I wish.” The man chuckled and brought the back of his hand up to swipe away the curls that fell in front of his eyes with a few stemmed flowers still in his hand, and it looked awkward and impractical but also very natural; like he did it all the time. Not that it helped much since the curls fell back to the same position they’d been only seconds later.

He felt himself getting weirdly distracted by the man’s demeanor, staring at the curls that fell over his slightly tanned skin. He felt a strange temptation to reach forward and swipe the curls away himself, but obviously didn’t. Instead he simply found himself staring at the other.

“When I planted the ones in my garden last year, I thought that red and yellow would look really cool with the Lady’s Mantle that was already there,” He stretched the purple bouquet out towards Phil and Phil took it off his hands. “And besides, purple would ruin my garden aesthetic.”

Phil’s mouth twitched, the corners edging up slightly.

“Oh, I like the purple ones!” Cornelia suddenly exclaimed next to Phil, who in turn, jumped slightly; he hadn’t noticed her approaching. She was holding a bunch of red roses, almost the same shade as her vibrant hair, and she shot him a kind smile as she spoke. “He’d love those.”

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed.

“Did you guys need anything else?” the man asked then, his voice suddenly coming off a bit more professional, and Phil straightened himself somewhat as he turned to look at him again.

“No, I think that’s it.” Cornelia said and placed the roses on the counter.

Phil took her place as soon as she got her receipt and she began walking to the door; heading for the car. Phil mirrored her by placing the purple tulips on the counter, smiling awkwardly at the man on the other side.

“I haven’t seen you sneaking around my house in a few weeks,” the man said with a soft smirk, as he added up the bouquet’s total into the cash register.

“I’ve decided to give up on my criminal career and become a law-abiding citizen instead.”

“That’s a shame,” the man glanced up from the register. “That’ll be 15 pounds.”

Phil handed him the money and watched as he dropped it into the till. “How come?”

“They’re beautiful and underappreciated flowers that cost more than—”

“No,” Phil cocked his head to the side, chuckling bemusedly. “I mean, you think it’s a shame that I don’t steal anymore?”

“Yeah.” The man ripped off the receipt when it was done printing and handed it to Phil, along with the bouquet. Phil noticed his delicate fingers with short and uneven nails, and he wondered if he had to keep his nails so short because of his work or if biting his nails was a bad habit of his. He shook his head quickly, as if to clear the thought, because he couldn’t understand why he even wondered something like that. “It always made me laugh, seeing you. I mean, at first I was kind of annoyed but then— I don’t know. It just seemed so sweet, in a way.”

“Well, since it was a lot cheaper than buying and if I can’t get rid of you either way–” Phil grabbed the bouquet and turned around to leave. “Maybe I’ll take up on it again.”

“I’m still not afraid to call the police,” the man said as Phil walked away, but just before Phil reached the door, the man added, “I’m Dan, by the way.” 

“Phil.”

He didn’t turn around as he opened the door to join Cornelia in the car, but his day suddenly felt a whole lot better than it had just a few moments earlier.

 

Later, as they reached the familiar gravestone and Phil ripped off the plastic surrounding the bouquet, Cornelia asked him the question he’d subconsciously been dreading.

“So…” she began, and Phil knew straight away what she was going to ask. “Are you seeing anyone special?”

Phil shuddered awkwardly as he crumbled up the plastic into a ball and shoved it into his pocket. “Not really, no.” he muttered as he leant down and placed the bouquet at the base of the large stone. They looked nice there. Cornelia had been right, Phil thought. Martyn definitely would’ve loved them.

“You seemed to get along with that guy at the store quite well,” she smirked at him as she shrugged off her jacket and placed it on the ground to sit down on. “Have you guys met before?”

She crossed her legs in front of her in a swift motion, still holding onto her roses, and began picking at the stem of one of them. Phil took a seat right next to her, watching as she plucked off the thorn on the stem between her fingers, and he chuckled. “Well, yeah. But you’d laugh if I told you how.”

“Tell me!”

“I, uhm— I was stealing his flowers.”

She looked at him in disbelief and Phil brought his hands up to cover his face in an attempt to hide from her judging look. “You did _what_?!”

“Yeah— well, you know how I always forget to buy flowers and his house is on the way here, right after the park y’know, and in his garden there are these tulips and— well, I thought he wouldn’t mind if I just _borrowed_ some so I took a few, and then I sort of, uhm, well… I did it a few more times and he caught me,” he babbled quickly. “He wasn’t _angry_ or anything but now I’m too ashamed to even walk past his house, and what even are the odds of him working at the freaking flower shop?”

Cornelia threw her head back laughing and Phil scrunched up his face.

“You… you— you stole his flowers?” she said with a grin, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Oh, shut up!” he said, but laughed with her. “Yes, yes I did! And now I’ll never be able to get flowers anywhere because he’ll be there to remind me of that! I’ll have to move to the other side of London, I swear to god.”

“You’re such a dork!” she giggled fondly. “That is _so you_ , oh my god.”

Phil shook his head, smiling, with his eyes fixed upon the purple patch of colour on the ground in front of them. Cornelia just giggled quietly for a while until she reached out and nudged Phil on his upper arm.

“He didn’t seem to mind that much though,” she continued. “To me it looked like he was happy to see you. I actually thought you guys like knew each other properly.”

Phil looked up at her with disbelief. “He’s— I don’t know, he’s probably just nice in general.”

They looked at each other for a long time, Cornelia’s lips gradually edging upwards into a smile, and eventually Phil broke their gaze and looked back at the tulips.

“I bet he just feels sorry for me. I wasn’t exactly subtle about how ashamed I was about it.” Phil said, but he wasn't so sure after all. He’d been nice, maybe too nice, and he’d also told Phil his name. Dan.

“If you say so..” Cornelia smiled, knowingly, but let it go. He was glad that she’d finally dropped it, even if he had a hard time keeping himself from thinking about anything other than the dimple-faced man who shared tulips from his garden.


	4. Chapter 4

‘ _I’ll meet you outside in 10’_

Phil read the message with his brows furrowed and typed his answer quickly.

‘ _Why can’t we just stay in tonight?’_

His phone buzzed. The crease between his brows deepened. ‘ _If you don’t come out I will come up there and drag you out here myself’_

He sighed and got up from the sofa, typing a passive aggressive ‘ _Fine_ ’ as he walked into the hallway, and made a stop in front of his mirror. He pulled his fringe to the side, placing it neatly at its place, and stood there for a few seconds staring at his reflection. His eyes looked tired, something dark ghosting right underneath his lower lashes, and he looked paler than ever. Not a very good look, to be honest.

PJ sure could be a pain in the ass sometimes, Phil thought, even though he knew that it was about time he actually did something that involved talking to people on a Friday night. He hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since New Years and even if he didn’t miss it, it somehow felt a bit pathetic when he thought about it.

Just as he’d shrugged his maroon bomber jacket over his dark blue button up, a loud and aggressive knock on the door filled the silence. He was met by PJ looking suspiciously at him when he opened the door– but PJ smiled when he noticed that Phil was in fact wearing his jacket and was ready to leave.

“Glad I didn’t have to literally carry you down the stairs,” he said and leaned against the doorframe. His curly hair was styled more than usual and he was wearing a black button up. It looked good, Phil thought. “All set?”

“Yeah,” Phil mumbled as he walked forward, forcing PJ to back away from the door. He closed it behind him and locked it before turning around again. “Let’s go.”

 

The pub was small and filled with people and Phil wanted nothing more than not to be there. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy PJ’s company or that the pub itself was _bad_ , it was just not for him. Not tonight. The glaring noise of a live band playing old covers and half the pub singing along, the steamy air that smelled of cheap beer and wet wood, the shoving, the screaming, the drunken slurs and smell of cigarette smoke – just everything. He simply wasn’t feeling it.

Although, he was starting to get tipsy, which was nice. He could feel the alcohol buzzing in his chest making his eyes feel dry and restless, even if the beer he held onto was starting to go warm. Phil didn’t even like beer, he just drank it because that’s what PJ placed in front of him and he did what PJ told him to. He was a good friend like that.

And besides, PJ was having a blast. They were sat at a round table in the very corner, right next to the bar, and he was standing in the middle of a small group of people probably telling some weird story and making everyone laugh. Phil wasn’t even sure if PJ knew them all but every time a new person came up to him, PJ acted as if they were best friends and told them to join in, and people liked that. People always liked PJ.

One of the girls that was sat to Phil’s right leaned over her friend and poked Phil on his arm. When he turned around, she smiled at him and waved her hand in a ‘come here’ motion. She looked nice enough, her brown hair tucked behind her hair and deep brown eyes looking expectedly at him, and so he leaned forward in order to hear her better.

“I’m Hannah,” she said and reached her hand out again, this time for him to shake it. “it doesn’t seem like you’re having a good time?”

“Phil,” he said and smiled, shaking her hand lightly. “crowds like this isn’t really my thing.”

Hannah nodded and flashed a grin, running her fingers through a section of hair that had fallen out from behind her ear to put it back in place. “D’you know that guy?”

She pointed right at PJ and Phil nodded. “Yeah, that’s PJ.”

“He told me to tell you to stop sulking and down that beer, and also that it’s okay if you want to go home.” she giggled, leaned forward a little bit more and said, “But I don’t agree with him.”

Phil laughed with her, slightly awkward, but didn’t really understand what she meant by it. The tipsy side of him just shrugged it off, but he felt himself tense up a little bit as he knitted his brows together.

“You don’t agree with what?” he asked, probably coming off as dumb, but he didn’t really care and took a sip from his warm beer. It wasn’t very nice.

“It’d be a shame if you left.” she brushed her fingers over Phil’s hand then, the one he was holding his beer with, and he instantly felt a lump in his throat.

“Oh,” he mumbled and leaned back. His mood immediately went from bad to worse, and the uncomfortable feeling of having to explain something for someone that probably wouldn’t understand made his gut twist. This didn’t happen to him often, but at the few occasions it did; he hated it. “And why is that?”

“I’d love to get to know you better,” she flashed another grin. “I don’t usually do this but, y’know, I think you’re really cute and you looked so lonely so, like, maybe you’d like to get out of here? Go somewhere that isn’t so loud?”

He could hear in her voice that she was drunk and even if that was probably better than her being sober, it still made Phil feel slightly ill.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea...” he said to her, placing his beer on the table as he glanced towards PJ desperately. All he wanted was for PJ to look up at him and understand, to come to his rescue and take him out of there. But PJ was having too much of a good time and Phil didn’t want to ruin it, wouldn’t ruin it, so he looked back down again.

“Hmmm, why not?” she slurred and Phil finally truly looked at her. She did look really nice, Phil thought. He really liked the colour of her eyes and she had a beautiful smile, reminding him of someone else he couldn’t quite place; but he still felt nothing when he looked at her.

He still hated that recognition, that residual feeling of _I should be feeling something but I’m not_ and _what’s wrong with me_ that always resurfaced at times like these. He had come to terms with his feelings long ago and it rarely bothered him nowadays, but being backed into a corner by a pretty girl who did nothing for him was just enough to make him squirm.

Every once in a while it was a struggle for him, in that way.

Some other time, maybe Phil would’ve explained it all to her. Maybe he would tell her why it wouldn’t work out and that she was really pretty but just _not his type, so to speak,_ and she would nod and understand and maybe they’d even become friends.

He didn’t say any of that, though. This time, Phil just wanted to get out of there.

“It’s just that- I- I have to go home.”

He stood up then, a little too quickly to be smooth, and he probably hurt her feelings a bit, judging by the way her voice spiked an octave, though he couldn’t quite make out her words as he made his way out from the corner; away from the warm beer and her dejected and confused look. Phil wanted to feel sorry for her, he did, but not as badly as he felt sorry for himself.

PJ turned around just as Phil freed himself from the table and their eyes met.

“You’re leaving?” he said it as a question but it landed as a statement, and Phil just nodded as he rushed towards the door.

The last thing he heard was PJ yelling, “I’ll call you tomorrow!” over the roar of the crowd, before the door to the pub swung shut and he stepped into the fresh and cold air of the night.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as possible, tilted his head backwards and closed his eyes only to exhale it slowly. The ball of anxiety that rested in his gut began to loosen up slightly, and even if it wasn’t that bad it still felt nice to get out of there; to breathe fresh air.

Phil felt his phone buzz in his pocket just as he closed the door to his apartment, but he didn’t look at it until he was safely tucked in his bed. ‘ _Sorry if i made you feel worse, i just wanted you to have some fun_ ’.

Phil knew that. He knew that and he didn’t want to be a dick and he did have fun, at least as much fun as he felt like he could, and none of that had been PJ’s fault. Normally, this wasn’t a problem. The two of them had been going out like this since their university days, and this sort of thing didn’t usually get to him – at least never so much so that he physically had to leave the place – but Phil just wasn’t feeling like himself.

He hadn’t been himself since the end of January, and he knew that he wasn’t just going to change overnight, as much as he hoped and prayed he could.

And so he quickly typed out a response to PJ, set his phone on do not disturb, and turned around to sleep. He wasn’t fine, not at the moment, but he would be. Some day.

‘ _No it’s fine i was just tired, have fun!!_ ’

 

It turned out that PJ knew Phil better than Phil thought he did, because he showed up the next night with a bag of microwavable popcorn and a wine bottle, claiming that they could get drunk without the pub and without the clingy people; just the two of them.

Phil knew that it was PJ’s way of saying that he was sorry without ever having to actually _say_ he was sorry. Even though PJ didn’t really need to be sorry for anything, it still made him feel a little bit better nonetheless.  

They played some Zelda and watched a comedy that Phil didn’t really like, and when it started to get late and the whole bottle was empty; Phil was wine-drunk and filled with bubbly laughter. He adored PJ for this, not because he’d gotten him drunk and fed him popcorn, but because he so obviously cared for him. It was nice to have someone like that.

He didn’t feel great the following day however, as he woke up with a headache and a strong reluctance to get out of bed. He’d promised himself to go visit Martyn, though, and he knew he had to go. It’d been over a week since he’d been there, mostly because Cornelia had flown back home for a few weeks, and he had no one there to encourage him to go.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go, but more that he couldn’t find it in him to get out of his apartment. He had to pry himself out of bed today, and god, that was hard.

The sun hung low when he finally managed to force himself out of his hazy bubble and out of his flat. It wasn’t the first time he went to visit Martyn late and even if it wasn’t fully dark out yet, the air was cold and biting. Phil tugged his jacket closer to him in an attempt to keep out the chill.

Phil thought back to the time he’d sat by Martyn’s grave in pitch black darkness, shivering in the cold that only London could bring, but finding himself unable to get up from the frozen ground. Even though he’d stayed there ’til long after midnight; he hadn’t necessarily felt endangered or afraid, just unbearably lonely.

That night had been one of the worst ones. It’d been one of the very first sleepless nights after the funeral, and as the weight of the night crept up on him and reality began to sink in, the only thing Phil could think of was to go visit Martyn – just like he’d done when they were little.

When they’d lived back home, growing up, Phil always ran straight to Martyn when he couldn’t sleep at night, or had woken up in tears from a bad dream. Little Phil had nudged his brother awake with a quiet whimper of _"I can’t sleep"_ or _"I had a nightmare"_ or _"why is the moon round"_ , and Martyn would always let him climb in under his covers and fall asleep next to him.

And that stuck with him. When Martyn moved away from home and Phil couldn’t sneak into his room at night, he always texted him or called him instead, and because Martyn was his brother and always looked out for him – he more often than not answered. It wasn’t often, as Phil didn’t really want to disturb his brother _all the time_ , but whenever those hard nights rolled around, Martyn was always there for him at the drop of a hat.

Lost in thought, Phil didn’t notice he was taking his original route to the graveyard until he recognized one of the houses on the street he was walking on and snapped back to his senses.

He looked ahead and immediately spotted the white walls of the tulip-house, or _Dan’s_ house, down the street and Phil came to a stop contemplating whether or not to turn around and take the other way. But Phil felt too tired, too numb and dull to really care; so he decided to just pass the house without looking at it. _Out of sight, out of mind_.

He was allowed to walk this street if he wanted to, he thought as he picked up the pace, and the odds of him bumping into the owner couldn’t be _that_ high anyways.

As he got closer though, Phil noticed something moving behind the neatly cut hedge – and the odds clearly _had_ been pretty high because a mop of messy, brown curls popped up behind the hedge right then and Phil cursed under his breath. He looked around quickly, considering running to the other side of the road to avoid another awkward encounter, but he felt that it was too rude – too childlike. He was never a fast runner, anyways.

It didn’t take long until the man turned around and looked right at Phil, holding a trowel in one hand and a bundle of asters in the other, his hands stained with dirt, and smiling sheepishly when he recognized Phil.

“I’m starting to get the feeling that you’re actually stalking me,” Dan said, gently dropping the flowers he held, and Phil came to a brief stop so that they were stood on each side of the hedge. “You here to grab some flowers?”

“Not this time.” Phil said with a weak smile. He wasn’t really sure why he stopped to talk, but something about that carefree smile and the way the other always seemed to be holding flowers made Phil slightly lighter, happier, and it was just… nice. He liked it. He felt drawn to it.

“Then to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your house just happens to be on the way to where I’m going.”

Dan leant down then and plunged the little shovel into the dirt at his feet, and when he straightened up again he swept a hand through his curls and said, “With no flowers, I’m guessing you’re not on your way to meet that _special someone_ of yours?”

His emphasis on ‘special someone’ made Phil scrunch up his nose a little and he chuckled nervously, unsure whether or not to confess and tell him about Martyn. His socially awkward side won him out in the end, and instead he just shrugged.

“So why are _you_ out here poking around so late?” he redirected their conversation back to Dan, trying to hide the fact that he was completely ignoring the question. “It’s like, what, 8 pm?”

“Time is a social construct,” Dan hummed, his smile accompanied by two dimples, and Phil felt it difficult to look away from the two deep dents in his cheeks. “But well, I just got off work and these needed planting so...” he waved a hand, vaguely.

Phil thought he noticed something shifting in Dan’s demeanour then, something flashing behind his eyes, but he wasn’t sure and before he knew it his face softened and Phil dismissed it. It was probably nothing.

Phil nodded and took a few steps forward, trying to make it seem natural that he had to leave, but he wasn’t very good at that. He had a talent for making everything a lot more awkward than it had to be. “Well, so I-- I should really go.”

“Yeah, best not to keep that _mystery love_ of yours waiting.” Dan smirked and leant back down to pick his dirt-covered trowel up again. “Have fun.”

Phil chuckled, knowing very well that he wasn’t going to have the kind of fun Dan thought. At least he’d have something to talk to Martyn about. Phil would probably tell him about Dan, about how they had bumped into each other three times by now and how he made Phil feel kind of nervous, in a way he’d never really felt before.

“Yeah, you too.”

Phil began to walk, but didn’t get far before Dan called out for him and he turned around.

”Hey, wait a second!” he said, leaning over the hedge and holding out one of the purple asters in Phil’s direction. He looked childish, a playful grin plastered on his lips, and Phil chuckled back at him.

”What’s this for?” he said, a little bit surprised, but walked back to Dan nonetheless and reached out to accept it. Their fingers brushed together as Phil took the flower from him.

“Give it to that guy you’re seeing.”

“I-- Well, I’m not, but--”

Dan straightened himself up again. “Just say it made you think of him.”

Phil swayed a little on his feet and he smiled softly, muttering a quick “thanks, I will,” before he turned around to leave. He wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it, any of it, but the short encounter did actually make the rest of the walk there feel a little easier.

When he crossed his legs in the grass, the sun was just about to settle over the trees in the distance, and Phil leaned forward to place the lonely aster in front of the gravestone.

“This made me think of you,” he murmured to no one, and the passing thought of brown curls and dimples made him smile as he straightened himself back up again.


End file.
